


one step, two steps

by 99izm



Category: Produce 101 (TV), Wanna One (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Army, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bullying, Canon Compliant, M/M, Minor Violence, Panic Attacks, Post-Canon, Stargazing, Travel, post-disbandment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-12
Updated: 2017-11-12
Packaged: 2019-02-01 04:36:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12697494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/99izm/pseuds/99izm
Summary: Wanna One officially disbands in December, 2018. They make promises that they can't keep, and they drift apart. Five years later, Park Jihoon meets Park Woojin in the most unexpected place again—in the army.





	one step, two steps

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know how thankful I am for [leeminhyoongi](http://archiveofourown.org/users/leeminhyoongi/pseuds/leeminhyoongi) for helping me look through this, and being with me every step of the way ♡
> 
> A note that I have never been to Taiwan before, so all information of Jiufen and Shifen have been taken from [travel](https://guidetotaipei.com/visit/jiufen-%E4%B9%9D%E4%BB%BD) [blogs](https://theavidphotographer.wordpress.com/2013/02/02/taiwan-jiufen-%E4%B9%9D%E4%BB%BD/) online. Please also take my army details with a pinch of salt, I watched Ah Boys To Men and also the anime, Gate: Jieitai Kanochi nite, Kaku Tatakaeri for references.
> 
>  **Warnings** : There are scenes of violence/bullying, a bigoted asshole, and a scene where a character has a panic attack. Please read on only after you are aware of these possible triggers.

Wanna One officially disbands in December, 2018.

They have a final concert. It’s filled with tears, sweat, and bittersweet memories that clench at Jihoon’s heart. It has been a tough year or so, battling fatigue with visits to hospitals, pushing out new songs so they could promote as much as they can (and rake in more cash), and Jihoon thinks that in between all the pain and suffering, he’s actually glad that he was part of Wanna One.

Pink Sausages, WinkDeep, PanWink—Jihoon remembers each and every interaction that he’s had. They started out as strangers, but found comfort in each other despite MNet’s brutal ways and the physical toll on their bodies. Jihoon thinks that he’s lucky that he managed to meet each and every one of them—finding solace in tough times and making memories that are worth a lifetime.

He looks at Daehwi, the most adorable child who hailed from America in hopes of pursuing his dreams; Guanlin who tried so hard to fit in at the start but couldn’t because he found it hard to speak the language; Jinyoung who slowly gained confidence in himself as the time passed; Daniel-hyung who he could always count on for physical comfort; Seongwoo-hyung who always made them laugh; Minhyun-hyung who kept them in line; Jaehwan-hyung who lightened up their days with his singing; Sungwoon-hyung who made them feel like he’d always have their backs; Jisung-hyung who always protected them—and there was Woojin. Woojin, who was born in the same year as he was. They fit so well with one another, sharing the same tastes (albeit, different tastes when it came to clothes). Jihoon thinks that he could _almost_ call Woojin his soulmate, despite how cheesy it sounds—because he doesn’t think that he’d ever be able to find someone who’s on the same wavelength as he is, like Woojin was.

He doesn’t want this to end. He doesn’t want Wanna One to end.

But as they breathe out the chorus of Always, Jihoon finds the tears welling up in his eyes—how can they sing about being at the same place when they’re heading onto different paths? It’s cruel, Jihoon thinks, and he lets the tears fall from his eyes.

He knows that the other members are crying too—from the way Guanlin looks down to the floor, acting like the strong baby, to the way Jaehwan-hyung’s voice slightly cracks at the final note. He doesn’t want to look up, doesn’t want to look at the sea of white lights that would make him cry even more.

Wanna One crowds together, hands linking to make their final bow and Jisung-hyung leads them into their final goodbye.

“All I wanna do, it has been Wanna One until now. Thank you.”

 

—

 

After Wanna One’s promotions come to an end, they promise that they will all continue to keep in touch. They huddle close to each other for a final hug, and Minhyun-hyung says, “Let’s keep our group chat alive, no matter what, okay?”

The rest of them cheer in unison, pinkies sticking out to make the most ridiculous-looking pinky promise; and Jihoon thought that at that moment in time, they _would_ be together in their hearts, no matter what was in stall for each of them.

But, promises are made, and then they are broken.

It’s hard for them to keep in touch after Wanna One disbands. Wanna One’s fame still rings loudly in the air, and every company wants to make use of their name to continue promotions. Jisung-hyung manages to promote for a year with Daniel-hyung in MMO before he’s sent to the army; Minhyun-hyung goes back to Nu’est where they enjoy continue fame and manage to escape from their debt; Sungwoon-hyung goes back to HOTSHOT, who has less members but have managed a steady fanbase already; Jinyoung becomes an actor; Guanlin has solo activities for a while before he debuts in CUBE’s next group together with Seonho; Jaehwan-hyung’s solo songs hit the MELON roof whenever he sings for a drama OST; Seongwoo-hyung becomes a successful solo artist; and Daehwi and Woojin become the core members of Brand New Music’s first idol group.

Everyone moves on, and Jihoon thinks, he’s the only one who’s still stuck at where Wanna One ended off. He still tries to keep in contact with the rest of members, but perhaps, the unanswered calls and messages left on “Read” makes him feel increasingly jaded as time passes. He promotes solo for a while, but it doesn’t last. He has his group of steady fans, which bring in enough cash but it isn’t enough—it _never_ is enough, Jihoon thinks. His knee injury creeps up on him, and he thinks that it’s about time that he quits this whole _idol_ thing. He loves it—he relishes in being able to stand and perform on stage, but it feels like it isn’t worth it anymore.

So, Jihoon goes back to school and with time, no one remembers who Park _Jeojang_ is anymore.

 

—

 

Years pass in a blink of an eye, and now, the letter from the military is sitting in front of Jihoon.

He’s alone in his apartment. It’s not a _huge_ apartment by any means, but it feels too big, too suffocating for Jihoon to live in alone. He’s suddenly impaled with a truckload of memories—memories from ten years ago, when he was part of the top South Korean idol group, Wanna One. No matter how tired they were, there was never a single day where the dormitory wasn’t noisy. Fatigue wrecked their bodies, but the dormitory always felt like _home._

It wasn’t something that he was particular adverse to. Perhaps, if Jihoon was still an idol, then he would now be coming up with various means and ways to delay the enlistment, to not to have to go to the army just so he could continue performing. But he isn’t an idol anymore—and Jihoon thinks, if it’s mandatory, then it’s necessary. There’s no point in trying to fight something that’s instilled by the government, and Jihoon thinks that a part of him is actually excited to be drafted in, because it means that he gets a chance to get out of the boring, mundane office life that he’s been stuck in.

Perhaps, he’s over enthusiastic, but he heads down to the barber several days before his enlistment date, and shaves his head.

 

—

 

Enlistment is a quiet affair.

His parents don’t come down to send him in because Jihoon told them not to—Masan’s too far and he doesn’t want them to travel down just for his enlistment. His elder brother is at work, and he didn’t tell the rest of his friends (Donghan, Guanlin, Jinyoung… The few people who he still kept in contact with) the exact date of his enlistment because he didn’t want them to come down as well, didn’t want the media to prod.

But his efforts are futile, because there are still media around when he walks down the lonely gravel path—and Jihoon feels his heart beating faster. The media is swarming around the area, armed with heavy cameras and microphones. He should already be used to the whole “I’m no longer an idol” thing, so why does he feel so jittery, feel the adrenaline rush through his veins again? He knows that the media isn’t here for him, so he can’t help but wonder— _who_ are they here for _?_

When he walks into the building, his eyes fall immediately onto the figure who the media is pursuing. He thinks, it’s almost cruel how the fates have it. Because he never thought that he’d be seeing _Park Woojin_ ever again.

He tries to remain quiet, blend into the rest of the crowd but it’s like they are back to 2017, and Woojin picks him out from the crowd easily. Jihoon tries to not let it affect him, but it’s hard when Woojin’s the one to approach him, to take the first step forward even though the cameras are harsh—and Jihoon remembers how it was like when he still used to be an idol, was still used to the unforgiving flashes.

“Jihoon,” Woojin starts. There’s that _look_ in Woojin’s eyes again, and Jihoon looks away. He can’t bring himself to look at Woojin—to look into those eyes that he never thought he’d meet again. “I can’t believe that you’re enlisting today too.”

All the years of acting still flow through his veins and it’s probably the reason why Jihoon finds it in himself to look back at Woojin, to give a smile that’s practiced—and he just hopes that Woojin doesn’t see through him this time like how he had _always_ been able to see past Jihoon’s pretences before.

“It’s been a while,” Jihoon nods in acknowledgement. “I didn’t actually think that we’d meet each other again.”

Woojin nods too, and he smiles. It’s not the same smile that Jihoon had given him—it’s not rehearsed, but it’s genuine and Jihoon feels guilty. He hears the sound of camera flashes going off in the background, the way the reporters whisper loudly to each other (“Who’s he talking to?”)—and everything sounds like white noise. He only registers Woojin’s smile—the fact that his _ex-_ best friend is standing in front of him and giving him a smile that he never realised he missed this much.

Awkward silence washes onto them after. It’s hard to find the right words to say, hard to take the second step forward when there are so many years of untold words between them. They get interrupted when the Military Commander taps on the microphone.

They both turn in unison to face the Commander. He sports a short cut like the rest of the military officers. His gaze is steely and it speaks of strength, and Jihoon almost feels afraid of what’s about to come, how he had heard horror stories of how _bad_ the military can get (bullying, ragging—Jihoon doesn’t want to think about them).

He’s no longer a child, no longer a teenager. He’s now an adult, who has to draft into the military to protect the country, to protect the people that mattered to him. It was easy to run away from problems when he was younger—like how he escaped from the entertainment industry—but he can’t run away now.

 

—

 

_“Woojin-ah, wake up!”_

_It’s two in the morning, and Jihoon feels almost bad for having to wake Woojin up. He’s been watching Woojin for the past ten minutes, stuck on the dilemma of whether or not he should wake the younger up. It’s not every day that they get an off-day the next day—he wants Woojin to rest well, but he doesn’t want to be alone. Not now._

_Woojin jerks away, and there’s that furrow of his eyebrows. It’s the same look that Jihoon sees every morning, how Woojin looks vaguely angry at being roughly awoken, but his gaze softens when he sees it’s Jihoon in front of him. Jihoon_ knows _it, knows that Woojin has a soft spot for him—and he tries not to take advantage of it, but he can’t stop himself from doing so because all he wants is for him to be special._

 _“What’s going on, Jihoonie,” Woojin mumbles, and Jihoon can hear the sleep in his voice. His eyelids are constantly fluttering, like the wings of butterflies. He can’t take his eyes away from Woojin and Jihoon leans in nearer,_ nearer _to Woojin._

 _“I couldn’t sleep,” he whispers. Woojin reaches out to pat Jihoon’s head—it’s soft and gentle, and it’s_ so _Woojin. Head pats are intimate, and he hates it whenever someone else ruffles his hair, but it’s Woojin—and it’s okay. He feels Woojin pull him closer, and he feels his cheek rest against his chest. It’s warm, and Jihoon can feel the rumbling in Woojin’s chest. His heartbeat is loud but consistent, and it’s a quiet constancy that Jihoon feels himself falling asleep to. He wonders how loud his own heartbeat is—can Woojin hear it too?_

_“Good night, Jihoonie.”_

 

—

 

When Jihoon wakes up, he’s not on his own bed. The mattress is hard and tough, and the blanket that covers him is thin and rough. He turns over to his side to look at the alarm clock drowsily, and he’s surprised that he managed to wake up ten minutes before they were supposed to wake up for their first day of being a soldier.

He rouses from his bed, taking small and slow steps to the bathroom; to take a morning shower, to cleanse himself of the sheen of sweat that accumulated while he slept and to brush his teeth, to get rid of morning breath. But when he reaches the bathroom, Jihoon hadn’t expected Woojin to be there, brushing his teeth _—_ meeting eyes with him through the mirror.

It’s awkward. Meeting Woojin’s eyes through his reflection on a mirror brings up the memories that Jihoon thought he had managed to bury at the deepest parts of his mind, that he never thought would come back to haunt him. But it’s like, seeing Woojin again, unleashes all of these memories like a wild beast _—_ reminds him of the past, of “what could have been”s and “what was”s. Woojin tears his eyes away from Jihoon’s steely gaze to rinse his mouth with water, and it reminds Jihoon of how they _used_ to be, how they would wake up in the wee hours of the morning, preparing for their next schedule _—_

“Nostalgic, huh?” Woojin comments, wiping at his mouth with the towel that he hung across his shoulder. He doesn’t elaborate, not when the memories are still fresh in Jihoon’s mind.

“Yeah,” Jihoon replies, looking at anywhere but Woojin as he scratches the back of his head.

“I didn’t think we’d meet again in the army, much more, be in the same platoon _and_ unit,” Woojin continues. The Woojin that Jihoon remembers wouldn’t have engaged in small like in this, would have avoided Jihoon like a virus upon sight and Jihoon realises, that time pass and people change _—_ and it feels like he’s the only one being pulled back by memories of the past. Woojin walks up to him, extending a hand and offers him a smile, “Please take care of me, Jihoon-ah.”

“You too,” Jihoon nods, taking Woojin’s hand into a handshake.

It’s terrible how whatever his mind tries to forget, his heart remembers it like it was just yesterday. Jihoon feels the jolt of electricity that shoots through his body as their hands make contact, and he finds himself getting enveloped in the warmth and love that is Park Woojin. _No, Jihoon, you can’t do that to yourself,_ he reminds himself. Feelings that were left in the past should remain in the past, and Jihoon had promised himself to move on that stage of his life.

And then Woojin is laughing, and the snaggletooth peeks out from the corner of his mouth, and Jihoon is reminded of all of his feelings, and _god_ , he wishes that there is actually a time machine in the world, so that he could turn back time and fix all of the problems that he still carries with him today.

“Good luck to us,” Woojin smiles at him, and he shifts his hand to ruffle Jihoon’s hair.

Jihoon hates to admit it, but he missed it. But he swallows the thought that’s building in his throat and he replies, “Yeah. Good luck.”

 

—

 

There’s something about being in the military that reminds Jihoon of the idol life. Perhaps, it’s the routineness of the exercises: waking up at 4.30 in the morning, spending the day doing monotonous activities to train their bodies, sleeping together with other men in a single room. And it doesn’t help that Park Woojin’s also by his side, anchoring him down to the memories and habits of the past.

Perhaps, Jihoon isn’t as good at acting as he thought he was, because with tough training comes the reminders of his past. He gets reminded of his wrecked knee, and he starts to spend more time in the infirmary after rainy days lead to aching joints. Jihoon tries to ignore the sneers that he gets from the rest of his platoon mates, who call him weak while giving him _knowing_ looks.

Jihoon knows that Woojin’s body is as wrecked as his, and a part of him is bitter at how he’s able to hide all the traces of that, act like he’s just as fit of the rest of them _—_ and it must be nice to be able to act, to hide these traces because he manages to fit in with the rest of the platoon. A part of Jihoon wishes that he could fit in as well, so that he wouldn’t have to listen to all the sneers and jabs that he wishes didn’t affect him as much as he would have wanted it to.

It’s also why it comes across as a surprise when Woojin steps into the infirmary. By now, Jihoon is already a regular at the infirmary—so he knows who are the people who come by often, the people who pretend that they are sicker than they actually are so they can get time out of the army, and the people who are genuinely sick or injured. Woojin isn’t any of those people, no matter how often Jihoon wakes up in the middle of the night, finding Woojin crouching over at the side of his bed, clutching onto his knee, massaging it.

“What are you doing here?” Jihoon finds himself questioning, after Woojin settles onto the sick bed next to his.

“You know,” Woojin leans back into the bed and doesn’t look at Jihoon. “Same ol’ injury. It never got the chance to heal properly anyway, so it comes back once in awhile.”

“Huh,” Jihoon turns back from where he had been facing Woojin, to look outside of the window—anywhere but Woojin.

It’s strange. It isn’t even the first time that they are alone ever since entering the army. Jihoon remembers how they _used_ be, how they were friends who could share any secrets that they wouldn’t tell any other souls, how they were friends who could seek comfort in each other’s presence, and how they were friends who meant so much. There weren’t any moments where they didn’t talk to each other, and even if there were moments when neither of them talked, they tended to be moments of meaningful silences.

But now, there is only an awkward, pregnant silence that washes upon them. And a part of Jihoon wonders, _what changed?_

Perhaps, Woojin’s thinking about _them_ too, because he suddenly raises his voice and he’s sitting next to Jihoon on the same bed.

“I really didn’t expect us to meet again,” Woojin begins.

“Well, I could say the same too,” Jihoon replies, even before his brain actually processes what came out of his mouth. He wishes that he hadn’t come across _so_ curt, but perhaps there was the lingering sense of pent-up frustration of missed calls, unanswered messages and years of waiting.

“I’m sorry.”

 _That_ , Jihoon doesn’t expect.

It prompts him to look away from the window, at Woojin’s direction, where he’s playing with the edges of his shirt. Jihoon hates to admit it, but the heart remembers everything that the mind tries to forget—and it reminds him of the habits that Woojin used to have, and apparently still has. It tells him that Woojin’s nervous. But it also tells him that whatever Woojin is saying is genuine, is _real._

“I’m sorry for all the years of unanswered calls and messages,” Woojin whispers. “I know it’s an apology that came too late. But I just wanted to explain myself.”

Jihoon doesn’t reply and Woojin takes it as his cue to continue.

“I just got so busy right after Wanna One disbanded, so caught up in the preparations of another debut,” Woojin takes a moment to pause and exhale loudly, and it almost makes Jihoon think that he’s about to cry, that he’s collecting his emotions together so that the tears don’t fall. “It sounds like excuses, but maybe, the pressure was getting to me—the whole, Brand New Music’s _first idol group_ thing—and it made me lose sight of the things that mattered to me: my parents, Yerimmie—” and then he looks up, straight into Jihoon’s eyes “—and you.”

I really regret it. I didn’t know how to contact you again ever since one of the _sasaengs_ got my phone number and I was forced to switch, and then you disappeared from the industry.”

I was really about to give up hope, but then the enlistment letter came. Rhymer-hyung was about to request for a delay, but I thought—perhaps, _just maybe_ , I could get a chance to see you again. And I wanted to fix my mistakes.”

Woojin takes Jihoon’s hands into his own, and Jihoon thinks he’s about to cry from the hope that’s building up within him. “I’m sorry, Jihoonie. I _really_ hope that we can become friends again.”

The thing about tears is that they come in handy whenever you want to wash the sadness and disappointment away. But as time passes and seasons change, you come to realise that there are some things that are just so sad and unchangeable, that tears can’t wash those emotions away, no matter how much you cry.

He’s tired of crying, of running away from years of pent-up emotions and regrets. So, Jihoon swallows the lump inside his throat, and he tightens his grip on Woojin’s hands.

“Please take care of me, Park Woojin.”

 

—

_They are performing Always, at the Taiwan fanmeeting, when Woojin looks at him. Jihoon had always found Woojin hard to read. It’s like his gaze can say a thousand words, but yet nothing at the same time—and it did nothing more than confuse the flurry of emotions that was swarming within Jihoon._

_Woojin looks at him like he’s the only person that he sees amidst the sea of a thousand people, and it makes Jihoon’s heart skip one too many beats, in a way that it makes Jihoon think of shoujo manga, and those Korean dramas that his mother loved to watch at night._

_Woojin extends his hand, and Jihoon takes it. He can’t stop the smile that creeps up on his face, nor the thumb that rubs against the soft of Woojin’s hand. He knows that he’s falling deeper, no matter how much he tries to climb back to the surface. He feels like he’s bleeding love, but it’s Park Woojin. He knows that his feelings would never be reciprocated, not when they are Wanna One’s Park Woojin and Park Jihoon—but humans always want what they can’t have, and Jihoon finds himself sinking deeper into the abyss._

 

—

 

They both find that it’s easy to get back into _their_ rhythm, the beat that belongs solely to Park Woojin _and_ Park Jihoon. Training isn’t as terrible as how it used to be, now that Woojin’s by his side. Jihoon knows that Woojin genuinely enjoys exercising, but there’s something about how Woojin deliberately slows down, paces himself against Jihoon’s speed that makes his heart swell up in love.

But he reminds himself that he shouldn’t be hopeful. There’s nothing beyond their relationship beyond friendship, and Jihoon reminds himself—to let go, to not overthink every action, every gaze—because he doesn’t want to be the one taking steps backwards.

At the sight of Woojin being closer to him, he sees the way the clique in the platoon gives him nasty glances when they think that Woojin isn’t looking at them, when they know that Jihoon is hyperaware of his surroundings. Jihoon doesn’t want to think much about them, not when the person who matters the most is right next to him—and he doesn’t want to concede to their childish, immature selves.

Perhaps, it’s also those gazes that prepare Jihoon for the other’s nastiness aimed particularly at him, when they are back in the safety of their room, and when Woojin had gone to the toilet.

“Your _boyfriend_ ’s finally gone, huh?” One of them sneers as the group corners Jihoon around his own bed.

Jihoon looks around and he gives a mental sigh at the apathy of the rest of his platoon mates. He knows that bullying is an issue that still pervaded the army, and he thinks that these very people—who do nothing to condemn the act—are being the biggest bullies for their indifference, their reluctance to stand up to do what’s _right_.

“Woojin’s not my boyfriend,” Jihoon explains, training his eyes at their supposed leader—Wootak, he thinks.

Wootak rolls his eyes. “And we are blind _._ ”

Jihoon sees the way Wootak begins to clench his fist to form the punching stance. He recognises the clenched fists, from the memories of filming music videos, of pretending and acting—and he closes his eyes to brace himself for the incoming hit, clearly not in the mood to put up a fight.

But the seconds pass, and there’s no force against him. It prompts Jihoon to open his eyes, and he’s surprised to see that Woojin’s standing in between them, hand catching Wootak’s fist. When did Woojin even get here?

He almost forgets how strong Woojin is, until he’s pushing his own weight against Wootak’s. It forces Wootak to lose his balance, staggering backwards, where the rest of his minions support him, while murmuring, “Hyung-nim.”

Jihoon doesn’t have to look at Woojin to know that he’s angry. He’s practically radiating rage off of him, and Jihoon doesn’t actually anticipate the following moment: Woojin clenching his own fists, and _actually_ punching Wootak. Woojin misses the center of Wootak’s face, and the impact lands on Wootak’s jaw. Wootak screams, as if he hadn’t expected it and then, Woojin’s deep voice is loud in the quiet room.

“Stay the fuck away unless you want your nose to be the next target,” Woojin seethes. He doesn’t wait for a reply, before he’s turning around, grabbing Jihoon’s hand, and Jihoon finds himself whisked off to wherever Woojin wants him to be.

 

—

 

The place that Woojin takes him to is, apparently, the courtyard. It’s in between the buildings that house the infantrymen, and it’s surprisingly quiet and private, considering how open it is. Well, none of the recruits would want to be out in the courtyard at this time of the day, especially when they could get some rest from the tough activities of the day, after all.

Woojin pushes him down, motioning him to sit. He’s strong, but there’s a certain softness and gentleness to his actions, and it makes Jihoon feel like he’s being enveloped in warmth. Neither of them say anything as they sit down on the hard ground. Jihoon’s looking at Woojin, who’s looking at the ground—and it’s almost strange that Jihoon’s the one who’s directing his gaze at Woojin now.

So, Jihoon tries to lighten the atmosphere with a laugh, “You had the punching posture wrong, you know. If your thumb's outside, you're going to break it."

Woojin shrugs and he looks up from where he had been staring. It’s hard for Jihoon to put his finger to Woojin’s gaze. It’s steely but bright—unreadable—and it reminds him of the cloudy night skies where the moonlight mischievously peeks at you from behind a cloud. It’s a piercing gaze, and it almost feels like Woojin’s trying stare right through him, to know what he’s feeling too. Jihoon’s wrapped up in his own thoughts, in trying to decipher the moment, that he doesn’t actually comprehend the moment when Woojin raises his hand, to rest against the soft of Jihoon’s cheek.

"Who cares," he mumbles, "Got them off your back and that's what matters."

Jihoon feels the way his heart beats hard and quick against his chest. It reminds him of the memories of six years ago, of how his heart would start leaping when Woojin brushed his hand against his skin, when Woojin looked at him like he was the only person that he could see. He doesn’t need to comprehend, to analyse his feelings because he knows what his heart is trying to say—that Woojin is _special_ and Jihoon fucking loves him.

But cowardice pulls him down, and he swallows the lump in his throat and he thinks it’s better to say, “Thanks for helping me.”

Woojin’s hand drops from his cheek like it caught fire, and it makes Jihoon think that he said the _wrong_ words, that he _ruined_ things. And Woojin’s next words just seem to lodge the knife embedded in his heart deeper, “You’re welcome.”

 

—

 

_Winter means that the cold is coming, and Jihoon knows that Woojin doesn’t deal well with the cold. He comes from sunny Busan, where it doesn’t snow, where temperatures never drop as low as those in Seoul. But Woojin is also incredibly stubborn, and Jihoon knows of his tendency to continue wearing short-sleeved shirts even when the wind is blowing harshly against his cheeks, even when his body is shaking from beneath the thin layer of clothing._

_They are performing at the Pyeongchang Dream Concert. It’s a cold day and the wind is relentlessly harsh. It almost feels like they aren’t wearing Heattech, that the heat packs that have been pressed against their bodies are nothing more than added weight. Dancing does create some heat, but when they pause in their steps, and they are up to do their ments, the cold returns like a bitter nightmare._

_Jihoon sees the way Woojin’s body is shaking, and he’s confused for a moment when Woojin moves him forward, away from Minhyun-hyung. He’s still lost in his thoughts, in the cold when he feels Woojin’s fingers slide in between the empty gaps between his armpits. It’s cold to the touch, even through his thick clothes, and he feels the way Woojin’s body shivers against him._

_They don’t need words, and Jihoon knows that Woojin is cold, and that he’s searching for warmth in the form of Park Jihoon._

_He bites at his lower lip, and he wonders if Woojin can hear the sound of his heart racing._

 

—

 

Modernity brings along communication and fostering of ties between countries, and it shouldn’t come across as a surprise when their Sergeant calls them into a room to inform them:

“You will be headed to Taiwan next month for a joint training session,” Sergeant Lee tells them. Sergeant Lee always wears a straight face on his face, but Jihoon thinks that it’s easier to identify the emotions that show on his face than Woojin. Woojin is a puzzle that he wants to learn, wants to put the right pieces together so that it shows the complete picture.

“Tension with North Korea has been on the rise,” Sergeant Lee continues. It’s not brand new information. It’s news that they all know, from the way the leader had been acting erratically, with missiles shooting into oceans and rockets being launched into air. “We’d like to take this opportunity to ramp up our defences while ensuring that we will be well prepared in times of potential war.”

Tension with North Korea has existed for as long as Jihoon had been alive. It’s surreal, really—to think that the two countries could potentially go to war one day, when nothing had happened after so long. It would be cruel, Jihoon thinks, for it to happen when he and Woojin are in the army, when it could’ve happened anytime. But Jihoon doesn’t want to think of the possibility of war, so he brushes these thoughts away.

“Please read through the training leaflet,” Sergeant Lee says as he passes the stack of papers to the first person he sees. It’s Wootak, and Jihoon tries to ignore the way he gives him the papers a tad too roughly, a tad too hostile. But if Wootak doesn’t do anything to him, then he thinks that he shouldn’t, and he knows that Woojin’s going to be by his side, no matter what happens, after all.

“Taiwan, huh,” Woojin muses softly from his side. Jihoon turns to look at him, and Woojin gives him a soft smile. His snaggletooth peeks out from his side, and Jihoon really thinks that it’s great that he never got it fixed; that it’s the only physical part of Woojin that never changed. “Doesn’t it bring back memories?”

It does. He thinks of bubble tea, mango shaved ice, and hotpots; of warm laughter shared between the members and Guanlin’s family and it leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. Jihoon wishes that he could see the happiness in the memories, but he thinks of the years of loneliness, and he finds it harder to swallow the lump that’s building up in his throat.

But he doesn’t want to ruin the mood, doesn’t want to admit his loneliness, so he flips through the pages, searching for _anything_ that could change the topic. Jihoon has never been the type to travel (not when he had been alone all this while), but he knows of places, of the locations in the world that he wants to visit—and his eyes zoom into the location.

“It says that we’ll have a free day at Jiufen,” Jihoon points out, smiling at Woojin.

“Jiufen?”

“Yeah,” Jihoon looks down at his paper, but the smile remains on his face. It doesn’t fade. It’s there to stay, there to show his genuine excitement and anticipation. “It’s the place where Spirited Away was modelled after. It’s _beautiful_.”

He doesn’t look up, but Jihoon feels the weight of Woojin’s hand, fingers threading into his hair as he pets his head. It’s comforting—it had _always_ been comforting to Jihoon. If Sergeant Lee or Wootak’s looking at them, Jihoon thinks that he doesn’t care, not when he wants to bask in _this_ moment.

“Let’s go there together,” Woojin whispers.

Jihoon smiles brighter and he nods. “Yeah, let’s.”

 

—

 

The terrain is rough and unfamiliar to what they are used to. It’s hotter and more humid than the weather back home, and there’s a permanent layer of perspiration that sticks to them like a second skin. It makes them more tired than usual, even though the routine is just like how it was back home.

Jihoon’s excited for their free day, to be able to go out to wherever they wanted to go to after days of toiling through rainforests and harsh land, of dirt and grime.

They wake up in the early morning, before any of their platoon mates are up. The morning air is fresh, and it’s nice to be awake slightly later than normal. But Jihoon knows the reason why his heart is beating quick against his chest—and it’s only because it’s Park Woojin standing next to him, hand tugging at the few stray hairs, fixing it into place; and it reminds Jihoon of how they are actually going around Taiwan _together_.

He wonders if the media knows that they are here, in Taiwan. He wonders if anyone would recognise Woojin, the star. He wonders if anyone would wonder who the man standing next to Woojin is, and if they remember that there used to be an idol named Park Jihoon.

“Let’s go,” Woojin smiles at him, and he extends his hand towards Jihoon.

Jihoon swallows the lump in his throat as he accepts Woojin’s hand, their fingers interlocking easily. It almost feels like a date, a vacation, rather than military training, and it feels cruel. He thinks of how he wants to solve the puzzle that is Park Woojin, and he looks at their linked hands—and it makes him think of how he wants to be Woojin’s missing puzzle pieces, so that they could come together to form the perfect picture.

Woojin has his phone open in his free hand, finding the directions to the nearest bus stop that would bring them to Jiufen, the place where they wanted to head all along. It’s hard to navigate around a foreign city, where the tongues and signs are confusing and Jihoon can only rely on Woojin’s idol skills to get around. Jihoon remembers how Woojin had joked earlier today, “Luckily, I had some Chinese classes in the past!”

It reminds him of Guanlin, of short Taiwanese classes in between Jihoon teaching him Korean, of Wanna One and what used to be. But Jihoon doesn’t say anything, and he looks out for signs that bear the same drawings as what he sees on Woojin’s phone.

“It says that the bus ride’s about an hour long,” Woojin nods towards the direction of the bus stop, which they managed to find after quite a while. “Want to grab a drink or something, first?”

Jihoon didn’t quite realise when his throat had started to feel rather parched, so he agrees. The Taiwanese convenience store isn’t that much different from the ones back in Korea, and he takes a couple of bottled drinks—he sees the English words, _milk tea_ on them, so they should be fine—and he walks around the aisles to find Woojin.

He’s hit with a strong stench of nostalgia, from the way Woojin crouches in front of the snacks aisles, wondering which packet of chips to get. Jihoon remembers all the moments, of how they used to spend more time than they should at the convenience stores outside the broadcasting station, because it felt like it was one of the few times that they could be _them_ , going back to their genuine, innocent selves who wanted nothing more than to taste their childhood memories all over again.

Woojin smiles at him when he notices that Jihoon had been staring. It almost feels like he shouldn’t have done that, but when it comes to Park Woojin, there isn’t any room for the fear of failure, because Woojin feels like a safety net that would catch him no matter what happens out there.

They lay their drinks and snacks in front of the counter, and the female cashier’s eyes widen slightly. She looks young, and her makeup is done in a way that tells Jihoon that she’s definitely a Kpop fan, and she _probably_ recognises Woojin.

“Are you Woojin?” she asks in Korean, and Jihoon’s surprised at the way she’s so collected, the way she doesn’t sound like she’s stuttering on her words.

Woojin nods, a shy smile on his lips. “I am.”

“I’m a really big fan of yours!” she exclaims, and Woojin’s smile softens. She’s taking the items up to scan the barcodes, and Jihoon taps at his feet incessantly, at the awkwardness, at how she’s talking and Woojin’s looking at her, but there’s nothing more than sheer politeness in the act.

He gives her a final nod as she passes the bag over to him, and they don’t look back when they leave the store.

“Wow, Mr. _Welcome To My Hollywood_ turned international, huh,” Jihoon teases.

“Shut up,” Woojin glares at him, but the way the tips of his ears are turning red tells Jihoon a different story.

Jihoon watches the way Woojin’s gaze turns soft, and there’s something that tells Jihoon that he knows what he’s about to say. The words that Woojin wants to say hang on the tip of his tongue, and Jihoon swallows the growing lump of saliva in his throat and he stops Woojin before the words escape, “Don’t.”

“Alright.”

Woojin doesn’t pursue the topic, and they walk silently towards the bus stop. It’s a single bus that heads straight to Jiufen and they just missed the bus, so it’s a while longer before the next bus comes. They sit down on the empty chairs in front of the the bus berth. Neither of them make the first move to say anything, but Jihoon feels the weight of Woojin’s hand above his.

 _I’m sorry_.

“It’s okay,” Jihoon says, looking at the clear skies in front of them. The sun’s about to come out, and it’s cloudless. But Jihoon feels like his heart is being weighed down by tumultuous clouds. It’s a topic that weighs heavily above them, and Jihoon thinks, perhaps, it is time that he say the words that have been suffocating him for the longest time. “I don’t regret leaving the idol life, Woojin. I made that decision myself. There are parts of me that regret leaving, but—”

Jihoon turns to look stare straight into Woojin’s eyes. He sees the way the sunlight reflects itself in his wide eyes, and the way they seem to reflect all the good and happiness that Jihoon ever wanted. He knows how his eyes used to be likened to be stars, but he thinks that Woojin’s the real _star_ , after all.

“—I’ve come to terms that _that_ life was never meant for me. I’m happy with the way things turned out, and perhaps, if I never made that decision, we wouldn’t have met again. So Woojin,” Jihoon pauses to slide his fingers into the empty spaces of Woojin’s own. They are beginning to turn clammy from the humidity, from the sweat; but there’s something warm about it that Jihoon wants to continue holding onto his hands for _forever_. “You don’t have to say anything.”

It’s eerily timely how the bus arrives now. Jihoon’s the first to stand up, and he pulls Woojin to stand together with him so they can line up in front of the bus’s doors.

“Let’s go.”

 

—

 

_Jihoon comes to appreciate bus rides after it’s their fourth day of running on just two hours of sleep. Bus rides tend to be long and bumpy, and it reminds him of how it’s easy for him to fall asleep to the rhythm of the bus. It’s hard to fall asleep back home when you’ve been running on so little sleep, and Jihoon thinks that he’s been spending more time sleeping while he’s on the bus than when he’s at home._

_The rest of the members often talk more than they sleep in the bus. But today’s different. The bus is quiet. The members are either asleep or playing games with their phones. Jihoon doesn’t really want to know what Jinyoung and Daehwi are doing at the front of the bus._

_He’s sitting next to Woojin, and Guanlin’s sitting next to Woojin. Guanlin had pouted when they got on the bus and Woojin took the seat next to Jihoon. Window seats had become Jihoon’s de-facto seat on the bus, and the only change is who’s sitting next to him._

_Jihoon thinks that Woojin’s probably on his phone, playing one of those phone games that he likes to play to pass time—but he feels a weight on his shoulder as his eyes struggle to close._

_He stiffens at the foreign contact, at the strange weight on his shoulder. When Jihoon turns slightly to his side, he sees the way Woojin’s eyes are closed, mouth opened slightly wide but he looks peaceful at sleep. He doesn’t miss the way Guanlin’s gaze softens at the sight of them, and Jihoon finds his heart skipping a beat at their proximity._

_It’s hard to calm his beating heart, when he knows of his feelings for Woojin. Jihoon thinks that the more perceptive members are already aware of his crush on Woojin, but it’s hard for him to take the first step when he’s constantly being reminded of how Wanna One has an expiry date, at how it wouldn’t be long before they are separated, and the question of whether they’ll meet again hangs like a curtain over them._

_Jihoon swallows the lump of saliva that’s collected at his throat. A part of him thinks that he should wake Woojin up, get him off his shoulder so that he can calm his beating heart; but another part of him longs for the contact, the feeling of his cheek against cotton._

_But he sees the dark circles that are beginning to deepen, and Jihoon can’t find it within himself to wake him up. So he exhales loudly, and leans in towards Woojin, and hopes that it’s a more comfortable position for them both._

 

—

 

When they get on the bus, Woojin nudges at Jihoon to take the window seat at the back of the bus. He wonders if Woojin _does_ remember, or it’s a random coincidence, an act to get Jihoon moving forward. He wonders, but he doesn’t get his questions answered because Woojin doesn’t wear his heart on his sleeves, and he merely looks outside of the window whenever he can.

It’s hard to keep his eyes open when the rhythm of the bus, the way it lures him to sleep from the bumps and soothing silence. Jihoon knows how the sites and books tell him to stay awake on the bus ride, to relish in the beautiful sceneries of Northern Taiwan.

“You’re sleepy, aren’t you?” Woojin asks. It’s sudden. Their hands are still interlinked, and he feels the way Woojin pull him closer, so that Jihoon can rest his head on his shoulder. “Sleep.”

His heart is beating faster than the speed of the bus, and Jihoon wonders if Woojin can hear his heartbeat.

“Brings back memories, doesn’t it?” Woojin muses.

Jihoon tries to nod, but it’s hard when Woojin’s shoulders are digging into his chin, so he says, “Yeah.”

“Remember all the times I fell asleep on your shoulder?” Woojin asks. There’s a meaningful look to his eyes, and it prompts Jihoon to get up from his position so that he can get a clearer view of those eyes, get a better read on Park Woojin.

Then, he lets out a small laugh and Jihoon watches the way his face and the tips of his ears turn a soft pink. “It’s embarrassing to say this, but—”

“I just wanted a reason to be close to you,” Woojin looks away from him in embarrassment and Jihoon finds it hard to breathe.

It’s hard to define _what_ they are, when there’s years of unspoken words and suffocating memories that wrap around them. It feels like it’s only right to label themselves as _friends_ , after all the years of lost contact, but the way Woojin wraps his hands over his, the way he smiles in the way that it makes Jihoon feel like he’s the only one that he sees—it makes Jihoon feel like they are more than friends; that they are more like a _relationship_ than _friendship_ , and the lines are too blurred for Jihoon to define _them_.

So he surrenders himself to the rawness of his emotions that flood through him, lets his face heat up in embarrassment, and he supplies a “Oh.”

Silence washes upon them and it makes Jihoon feel like he said the wrong words. They don’t say anything for the rest of the ride, but Jihoon’s still lying against Woojin’s shoulder and their hands remain firmly clasped in each other.

 

—

 

It’s an hour later when they alight from the bus, nodding their thanks at the bus uncle who kindly motioned to them through his rearview mirror when it’s their stop. They walk up the slope, according to the blog post that Woojin found online, for the Jiufen Old Street.

When they turn around the bend, they are greeted with the scents of delicious food and the smell of warmth that envelops them like a blanket on a cold winter morning. Jihoon walks up to the first stall he sees, and the smell of the fishballs invite him to grab one cup for himself. He fumbles to buy a cup of fishballs, and he pouts at Woojin when the stall owner ignores him, and his inability to Chinese.

Woojin laughs, and he walks up to the stall owner, and it’s just seconds later when he gets the cup of piping hot fishballs in front of him, “Here you go.”

“T-Thanks,” Jihoon huffs, taking the wooden picks and shoving the fishballs into his mouth. Jihoon’s not quite sure if it’s because he’s hungry, but the fishballs are really good. He gets reminded of the taste of fishcakes back at home, but they aren’t exactly the same, so he pokes another fishball into a wooden pick and extends it in front of Woojin’s mouth. “Try it.”

His heart is beating treacherously quickly, and it feels like they are just walking on the blurred lines that define what they are. It feels like people are looking at them, thinking of them as a cute couple—but Jihoon’s afraid that Woojin doesn’t want _this_. But Woojin keeps doing things that egg them on, like the way he pulls Jihoon’s hand up to direct the fishball into his mouth, and chews on it for a few second before wiping at his mouth and saying, “It’s really good!”

They continue walking down the Old Street, taking in the scenery with their eyes. It’s so different from the scenery back home, so _different_ that Jihoon feels like he’s been whisked off to an entirely different world. Perhaps, he is. And that’s why Woojin’s acting like this with him, acting like they are _boyfriends_ more than _friends._

Jihoon feels the way Woojin’s hand brushes against his. They aren’t holding hands, as Woojin’s constantly taking pictures every now and then, and he needs both hands to secure his camera in place. It feels awkward, like they are dancing around each other when holding hands had become something like second nature to them.

He takes a deep breath and takes Woojin’s hand into his. Woojin turns to look at Jihoon, and Jihoon feels the heat rushing to his ears, and he’s looking at the scenery ahead: the rustic teahouses, and uneven marble steps—and he thinks of what Woojin said to him before, and he says, “I just wanted a reason to be close to you.”

Woojin smiles, and Jihoon feels his grip tighten.

He finds himself getting pulled over to various shops that sell trinkets and candy. They have this very _Chinese_ element to it, that Jihoon has never seen them before. They stare at the souvenirs for a moment, and Jihoon thinks of how he hasn’t met his friends and his family for a while, and perhaps, the souvenirs would be a nice touch when he gets to meet up with them again.

He ponders for a moment on what to give: trinkets or food? There’s always an expiry date to food, but everyone loves food—and a part of Jihoon is bitterly reminded of how there’s always an end to beautiful things in life. Trinkets are permanent, and they serve as reminders, but he thinks of how people forget about the small details—and he wonders, is there really a _point_?

“Are you getting souvenirs?” Woojin asks.

“Yeah,” Jihoon gives a soft smile in Woojin’s direction. “I can’t decide to get food or some small trinkets, though.”

Woojin muses for a moment, and it’s a particularly thoughtful gaze. “How about both? I’m thinking of getting trinkets for my family and food for my friends.”

“Yeah, that makes sense,” Jihoon says, as his fingers dance along several wooden blocks on display. He’s not sure what they mean, but Jihoon thinks that he has begun to recognise some Chinese characters better; including the characters of “love” and “family” so he picks several out to grab. He’s too busy staring at the various designs, that he doesn’t notice Woojin taking small trinkets from his side.

 

—

 

They reach the end of the Old Street after shopping for souvenirs. Jihoon’s glad that they hadn’t gotten food souvenirs in the end. It’d be troublesome to bring bags of souvenirs around when their day was just starting, after all. He knows that the end of the Old Street means the start of Shuqi Street, which is the very street that inspired the many movies that he has watched, including Spirited Away.

He tugs on Woojin’s hand as he hastens his footsteps. He’s excited to see the street for real. There’s just something amazing about how people are able to replicate real life locations into animated films. When he reaches the street, he’s greeted with slopes and uneven pavement. but there’s something about the ambience and atmosphere that hits in all the right places. He can’t describe the scenery in front of him in words, but he finds himself letting out a simple, “Beautiful.”

“Yeah,” Woojin whispers from beside him.

They take slow steps down Shuqi Street, taking in the view of idyllic teahouses and bright lanterns. If Old Street made him feel like he’s been whisked to a different world, Shuqi Street makes him feel like he has been whisked to a different world, in a movie, in a film that is before his time.

There’s just something magical about the place, about the atmosphere that Jihoon can’t describe, and he just finds himself gaping like a fish as they walk down the streets. Perhaps, it’s an amusing sight, because he senses a flash go off from beside, and when he turns around, Woojin’s flushed red at the embarrassment of being exposed.

Woojin giggles softly at the picture and Jihoon frowns. “Delete that!”

“No!” Woojin forces his phone down the pocket of his jeans. “You looked cute, so there’s no way I’m deleting it.”

Jihoon pouts, and it prompts Woojin to pinch his cheeks. It’s also then when there’s a particularly big and burly man who’s coming down from the other direction, and he bumps into Jihoon, causing him to fall into Woojin’s embrace.

“Hey, hey, be careful there,” Woojin catches him, like he’s nothing, like he’s meant to be the one who’s here to save Jihoon whenever he’s tethering too close to the edge. Jihoon doesn’t miss the way Woojin glares at the man, but he’s suddenly hyperaware of their distance—of the way he can feel the ups and downs of Woojin’s rhythmical breathing, of Woojin’s iron-like grip on his arms, of the way he can _smell_ Woojin’s scent. It’s spicy, but sweet, with an underlying scent of perspiration from all the walking, and it just smells like _Woojin_.

Jihoon wonders if Woojin can hear the way his heart is beating so harshly against his chest.

He lets go, feeling a blush dusting on his cheeks and says, “Thanks.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Woojin smiles at him, and then, their hands are interlinked again. “I’ll always be here to catch you.”

“You’re stupid,” Jihoon replies, looking away from Woojin.

They walk up the slope. It’s tiring, but with the training that they’ve had so far, Jihoon thinks that it isn’t as strenuous as it is. The past him would have complained about the hike up, but the muscles are blossoming and he finds himself being better able to deal with physical activities. He doesn’t know what possesses him, perhaps, it’s the spirit of happiness and desire, so he nudges against Woojin’s ribs and asks him to take a picture of him.

Woojin nods, and Jihoon spends the next few moments posing. He doesn’t even know if Woojin’s really taking the photos that he asked for, not when Woojin doesn’t say the standard “1, 2, 3, _kimchi!_ ”

“Yah, are you even taking the photos?” Jihoon frowns, walking away from his spot, and going over to where Woojin’s standing.

“Don’t slander me,” Woojin pokes at the side of his forehead. “I took many photos, alright?”

He hands his phone over to Jihoon for evidence, and Jihoon frowns when he spots the candid shots. Jihoon’s about to hover against the Delete button as he mutters, “God, I look hideous.”

But Woojin takes his phone back from Jihoon’s grip, and he stares straight into Jihoon’s eyes “You look good in all the photos, so _no deleting_.”

Jihoon’s about to shoot back another retort, but another Korean tourist interrupts them, with a fond look in her eyes. He thinks that he has an inkling of what she’s about to say, and his instincts prove right when she smiles at them and asks, “Do you want me to take a photo of the two of you?”

“Sure!” Woojin smiles thankfully at her, and passes her his phone before he drags Jihoon to where Jihoon was standing before. Jihoon feels hyperaware of their distance, the way their bodies curl into each other’s, and the way Woojin has an arm around his waist. His touch feels like fire that cuts straight through the cotton of his clothes, and dances along the edges of his skin, and he tries to swallow the thought away, like how the lumps in his throat disappear with a gulp.

“1, 2, 3,” the Korean lady says, hands on the shutter. Jihoon hurriedly brings his hands up to form a peace sign, and he stares straight into the camera just in time for “ _Kimchi!_ ”

“One more!”

Jihoon doesn’t know what to pose, so he turns to his side to see kind of pose the _idol_ , Park Woojin would make. He makes a peace sign like the one Jihoon made earlier, and it’s also at the moment where he hears the sound of “ _kim—_ ” that Woojin turns to look at him; and the moment in which they are _both_ looking at each other is captured by the camera. He wonders how does his gaze looks like on camera.

“Aw, so in love,” the lady muses as she looks at the photo to review it. Woojin’s back, next to the kind tourist, and she adds, “I wish that my boyfriend would look at me like that too.”

Jihoon feels the heat rushing to his face again, and he wishes that the words could come as easily as they were thought, so that he can admit, “We’re not dating!” But, perhaps, a part of him wishes that they are so he can continue pretending that they are on a date, that it’s the one day in his life that he relishes in nothing more, but happiness.

Woojin laughs, and his hand moves up to scratch at the back of his head while taking his phone back from the lady. “Not at all, but thank you for helping us take the photos.”

“No problem,” she replies, and then she begins to make her way away. “I hope you have fun for the rest of your date!”

When the lady is outside of earshot, Jihoon walks over to Woojin and he asks, “Why didn’t you tell her that we aren’t dating?”

“I don’t know,” but there’s a look in Woojin’s eyes that tell him that _hey, I was thinking something along the same lines as you._

 

—

 

It’s in the afternoon when they decide to make their way out of Jiufen, to another spot that Woojin found while they were doing research for their trip. It’s Shifen, a fifteen to twenty minute bus ride away from Jiufen. It sounded tiring, to fit two places into a single day, but Jihoon sees pictures of the lanterns and train tracks, and he figures that it’d be delightful if they really could visit the place together.

The bus ride is quiet, as it’s filled with many people. It’s hard for them to hold a conversation together, when they are more focused on keeping their balance, and Jihoon trying not to be overly conscious of the lack of space between him and Woojin.

They get off at Shifen, together with a bunch of tourists. They have read about the lanterns online, so they head for the shops by the railway to buy the lanterns. It’s expensive, but they are already _here_ , and Jihoon thinks that he’d only do all of these if Woojin’s here with him, anyway.

His hands hover over the pink lantern (it’s for _romance_ , he reads), and he thinks of how awkward it’d be, so he settles for the white lantern ( _health,_ he remembers). Jihoon brings the lantern forward to the vendor, making his payment, and then he calls Woojin over so they can write their wishes together.

It’s awkward to write using a calligraphy pen. But he presses the pen into the ink, and he suddenly feels overwhelmed with the pent up emotions and words that he’s never said. Jihoon turns to look at Woojin, who’s writing down his own wish with a look of concentration. It reminds him of the times where they were concentrating during dance practices and it leaves a bitter taste in his mouth.

He stares at the white sheet for a moment, and he remembers the day they have spent thus far, and he sees the empty spaces, and he fills them up:

 

> _I hope that we’ll continue to stay healthy and finish our service without injuries._
> 
> _I want to find happiness._
> 
> _I hope that my family continues to remain healthy too._

And it takes particular effort for him to write the wish, but Jihoon tries:

 

> _I hope that my affections will be returned one day._  

When he’s done writing, Woojin’s looking at him. He has a hand on the edge of the lantern, and he beckons over to the train tracks where everyone else is releasing their lanterns. “Ready to go?”

“Yeah,” Jihoon breathes, and he lets go off the brush and places it back to where it was meant to be.

Shifen’s an interesting place, because he sees the way the street’s built in between the train tracks. It isn’t even that the train tracks are no longer used, but they are still running—and there’s that sense of adrenaline of taking photos, then running away quickly when a train is approaching. He sees the masses of people taking photos on the train tracks, and when they let go off their lanterns, and he thinks of how photographs capture moments for _forever_ and he realises that he wants to remember _this_ forever.

“Do you think we could get someone to take a photo for us?” Jihoon pokes Woojin’s side. The heat of the lantern tells him that they don’t have much time left.

“Yeah, I was thinking of that too,” Woojin returns a smile. “Hold on to this, would you?”

Then, Woojin leaves, and comes back with a random lady. She beams at them, and she motions for them to lift the lantern into the eternal sky, and they do so as she clicks on the shutter.

It’s quick, and it flies up faster than JIhoon thought it would.

He wonders how it looks like on camera.

“Thank you!” Woojin takes his phone back from the lady, who merely nods with a gentle smile. There has really been many nice people with beautiful souls ever since the day started, Jihoon thinks. Woojin walks back to where Jihoon’s standing, and they look through the photos together.

It looks like a scene straight out of the movie, as the photos show how they release the lantern in unison. The camera focuses on the side of the lantern with his general wishes, and a part of Jihoon is thankful at how his wish would only be for god to see.

“I’m glad I came here with you,” Woojin whispers.

When Jihoon turns to look at Woojin, his gaze is gentle and soft with love. “Me too.”

Jihoon hears the sound of the train from the distance, and he thinks of how people come and go on their own tracks. Although he and Woojin went on their separate paths, he’s thankful at how their tracks eventually came together in the end.

“Yeah,” Jihoon reasserts. “Thank you for coming here with me.”

 

—

 

The rest of the day trip passes like a blur: from the time when they get back on a bus to Taipei, to spending time at the night market, to going back to the hotel.

It almost feels like a dream that Jihoon’s living in, that although the affairs of the day have passed, it still feels _so_ surreal. It’s a beautiful dream that he doesn’t want to wake up from. They are almost at the last street away from the hotel, and their hands are still interlinked with each other’s, and Jihoon feels the tinge of sadness at the thought of having to let go, of having to go back to military training, of having to see Wootak’s face again—and it makes him stop in his footsteps.

“What’s wrong?” Woojin asks, the very moment Jihoon stops in his steps.

Jihoon wants to say it’s _nothing_ but it’d be stupid to say that when it’s painted all over his face that it isn’t nothing, that he’s being swarmed with a flurry of emotions that he can’t put a single word to it.

“I guess—” Jihoon takes a loud inhale and exhales again before he speaks. “— I just don’t want this day to end.”

He feels the way Woojin tightens his grip on his hand, but it doesn’t prepare him for the next moment to come. Woojin brings his hand upwards to press a single kiss to the edges of his knuckles. It’s soft, gentle and it’s intimate; and Jihoon finds his knees turning to jello, his heart beating unhealthily quickly.

“It was a great day,” Woojin starts once he takes his lips off of Jihoon’s hands. “I don’t want to go back to training, to Wootak either; but thank you for spending the day with me.”

“It might be selfish, but I really enjoyed myself—and I think that this will be a day that will remain in the deepest pits of my memories, and it’ll continue to give me the strength to pass the rest of our service together.”

Jihoon remembers the way Woojin used to be reserved, preferring to swallow the words that he wanted to say, because words are tools that hurt and kill. But the Woojin standing in front of him is able to find the words, in a way that Jihoon can’t—and it almost feels like their roles have been reversed. Where it was easy for Jihoon in the past to speak his mind, it’s hard for him to say what he wants to say.

He wishes that he has the courage to put his thoughts into words, but it’s hard when the fear pins him down like an anchor in sea.

He doesn’t say anything and he doesn’t look at Woojin. He stares at the ground instead, as fi the gravel can provide him with the strength that he doesn’t have, but Woojin doesn’t put him to say anything either.

“Let’s go back to the hotel.”

“Yeah,” Jihoon exhales loudly, and he trains his gaze at the road in front of them. “Let’s.”

Jihoon wishes that their tracks would merge into one, because he can’t imagine a future without Park Woojin, not when he feels like Woojin had sneaked his way into a permanent spot, a reserved seat on the train wreck that is his life.

 

—

 

Training gets more intense in the remaining time that they spend in Taiwan.

Sergeant Lee is more strict with them, screaming more often as the threat of North Korea looms heavily over them. It’s strange how everything seems so real, that war between the two of them could occur anytime. They were born in a time where the two Koreas had already been split up, and it comes across to be so surreal that there’s a potential for war to break up as the missiles and rockets have shorter intervals, and they receive news that there have been heightened warnings and military action in the North.

Perhaps, it’s different because they are in Taiwan. He finally understands why people overseas are concerned whenever news about North Korea erupts. It’s precisely because they aren’t in South Korea, bathing in the atmosphere of general apathy and nonchalance, that the situation comes across to be _real_.

They are in the middle of training, of crouching against wet grass and breathing in the scent of mud, that he feels the fear and panic course through his body.

“All units fire to the target to the ten o'clock direction!”

“ _Fuck_ , I keep forgetting to shoulder check,” he vaguely hears one of his mates say, after they receive orders from their Platoon Commander to fire at the targets in front of them.

Jihoon knows that he should be following orders, firing his shots at the targets in front of them, but it’s hard for him to concentrate. The rifle’s a heavy weight on his shoulder, but he feels like he’s being weighed down by his fears and insecurities instead. War could erupt any moment. With a press of a button, fires could spread through South Korea, and they would be powerless to do anything to prevent it. Pictures of fire coursing through his _home_ , and the places that are familiar to him in South Korea run through his mind. It almost feels like the cloud of fire is washing over him, reaching the deepest pits of his body and suffocating him from within.

He doesn’t actually realise that he’s shaking so badly, that his fingers are pressing against the trigger of the gun, not until he senses a hand on his shoulder. When he turns around, it’s Woojin. His gaze is steely, but it’s filled with worry. “Are you okay?”

He wants to tell Woojin that he’s alright, that it’s nothing—but it doesn’t come across to be convincing at all. Not when he’s clutching onto his chest, the rifle dropping to the ground with a loud thud, and he’s struggling for oxygen. Jihoon vaguely registers the rest of the platoon mates stopping in their tracks, but Woojin does _something_ —Jihoon doesn’t really see what he does—and the rest of them continue with what they are doing, and they are left alone.

“Jihoon, _Jihoon_ ,” He hears, and then, he senses the way Woojin’s rubbing circles on his back. Woojin’s voice feels like it’s the only thing that’s keeping him sane and tied down to reality, that it’s helping him to fight off the fire and smoking that’s raging through his body. “Listen to me, Jihoon. Breathe _in,_ and _out._ In and out. Jihoon. You can do this.”

Jihoon tries. His thoughts are a fucking mess. He’s trying to concentrate on doing what Woojin’s telling him to do, but then, he pictures Woojin in the fire, and that there are pillars and structures that fall between them that renders him useless. All he can think about is how he doesn’t want to fucking lose Woojin, not when they finally found each other after so long. He knows that Woojin’s by his side, but he finds himself losing to his inner demons and fears—and fuck, it feels like it’s getting harder to breathe with every passing second.

“Jihoon,” He registers. “Jihoon, you have to _listen_ to _me_.”

He feels himself being enveloped in a hug, and it’s Woojin’s scent that pulls him back to safety; to the grounds that have not been enveloped in flames. When he looks up from the ground, his vision is clearing and he sees no one else but Woojin by his side. “W-Woojin.”

“Fuck,” Woojin breathes out a sigh of relief, letting go of their hug and collapses backwards on the ground next to him. “I was so fucking scared.”

Then, he leans in closer to Jihoon, “Are you okay?”

Jihoon wishes that he could say that he is, but it’s stupid to say that because he can feel the cold sweat running through his sides, and his hands are still shaking.

“God,” Woojin runs his fingers through his hair, and it looks like tears are welling up in his eyes. Then, he’s pulling Jihoon into a tight embrace, and Jihoon finds himself curling in, that Woojin begins to feel like hot chocolate and warm blankets on cold winter nights. “I’m so fucking thankful that you’re alright now.”

His mind still feels like it’s in a haze, from the residual smoke and fire that threatened to swallow him whole. So, Jihoon raises his hands up to tighten his arms around Woojin’s shoulders, and he can do nothing else but call out his name.

 

—

 

Jihoon gets clearance from outfield duty for the next weeks to come.

It isn’t unexpected, from the way he had briefly experienced what he’d think is a panic attack at outfield. He doesn’t miss the way Wootak and his clique give him sneers, commenting that “He probably faked it so he can skip outfield!” but he realises he doesn’t fucking care anymore, not when the memories of the lack of oxygen, and tethering along the edges to feed himself to his inner demons remains so fresh in his mind.

“Hey,” Jihoon turns around and it’s Woojin, who’s standing at the side of his bed. “Want to go out for a walk?”

He looks around the room, and everyone’s doing their own things. Well, Wootak and his clique are still giving him dirty looks, and Jihoon really wonders, _what’s the point_? But he sweeps the thought to the side, and he looks up into Woojin’s eyes, “Yeah. Why not?”

It’s quiet when they head out of their room, out of their building. They are in one of the buildings in the outskirts of Taipei, probably in one of the cities that they don’t know the names of. But the thing about the countryside and restricted areas is that they are always free of civilisation and metal buildings, and it’s nice to be able to see the starry skies at night and let their faces be caressed by the fresh air.

They walk around the building, because rules are rules, and they can’t be out too far from the premises. It’s hard to get privacy, but they managed to find their corner behind an uncommonly used staircase, and it’s a nice spot where the wind blows and you can see the stars when they sit down on the ground.

They aren’t looking at each other, but at the night skies that cover them from above. Jihoon can feel the way the wind brushes against his cheek, the way the stray leaves rustle in the air, but he can also feel Woojin’s body flushed against his.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Woojin asks.

It’s a topic that Jihoon had been expecting, and he had been trying to think of how to put the right words out for the whole afternoon, after he was excused from the rest of outfield and spent his time lying down on one of the hospital beds, and staring at the ceiling. He still doesn’t have the right words, but it’s also when he’s thinking of what he should say next, that he feels Woojin’s hand above his.

When he turns away from the night sky to look at Woojin, Woojin’s gaze is soft and gentle and it beckons him to say the words, even though he doesn’t have them because Woojin will always be here to listen to what he has to say, no matter how incoherent, no matter how broken he is.

“I was scared,” Jihoon breathes out. A part of him wants to continue to look straight into those beautiful eyes, but there’s also another part of him that finds it difficult to maintain the piercing eye contact when he’s baring the innermost parts of his soul to him.

“I was scared that war would really break out and then I’d lose everything that matters to me—my parents, my brother, my family, my friends,” JIhoon knows that his voice is shaking but Woojin’s still listening to him. “But I think, I was most afraid of losing y-you. _Again_.”

He finds himself choking up, on the lump that resurfaces within his throat, of the fears and anxiety that threatens to swallow him up. But, he feels the way Woojin moves his hands so that he can interlock their fingers together, and it feels like Woojin’s presence was the key to the lock that was held over the words he couldn’t find and couldn’t say. It’s almost like he finally realises the indescribable emotions that had been coursing through his body, and it feels liberating for the torrent of feelings to be unleashed into the wilderness of the moment.

“I didn’t think I realised how _alone_ and _sad_ I became after we went on our separate paths,” Jihoon admits. He knows about loneliness, and it’s different from being alone. “And I think a part of me just _broke_ when we started to drift apart.”

So I was really glad that we became friends again, that we went to Jiufen together—” Jihoon smiles, but he feels the tears welling up in his eyes. He recalls of all the tears that he shed as he laid alone in bed, blankets covering him but it never quite stopped the winter in his heart. “—but I’m afraid that once these two years end, it’ll go back to where the time stopped for us, and that coming out of the army would be just like waking up from the most beautiful dream.”

Tell me what I should do, Woojin,” He turns to look at Woojin, and perhaps, it’s the very sight of the person that he loves so fucking much that breaks the wall, and causes the tears to fall. “I don’t know what to do if we were to drift apart, if I have to go through the pain of losing you again.”

Woojin pulls him into a hug, and he feels the way Woojin rubs soothing circles into his back. It’s stupid how people do that in dramas all the time, because Jihoon thinks that it does nothing to soothe the aching pain in his heart, and it just makes the floodgates open all over again. He’s sniffling, he feels the way the tears escape more freely and quickly, and he barely registers Woojin’s words above his sobs.

“I’m sorry, Jihoon,” Woojin whispers. “I really am.”

They stay in that position until Jihoon feels his own tears stop, when his breathing slows down to a soft rhythm and Woojin pulls himself away from their hug to wipe at the stray tears, to wipe away at the almost-dry tear tracks.

“I’m really sorry, Jihoon,” Woojin says, and Jihoon can see the way his eyes are sparkling, and Jihoon thinks that they are wet with tears too. “I’m really sorry for everything I did to you. And I promise—I promise that I’ll continue to be by your side even after we leave the army.”

“I know that we made promises and I broke them—” Woojin continues as he reaches down to grab at Jihoon’s hands, squeezing them tight just as he rests his forehead against Jihoon’s. “—but I promise that I’ll never leave you again. I’ll always be here for you.”

It almost feels like they are too close, that their lips are only centimeters apart. Jihoon feels like he should say something, about what they _are_ but the words rest at the tip of his tongue, as it feels awkward and wrong to bring up such a topic at such an intimate moment that’s supposed to be about _him_ and not about _them._

“I’m sorry,” Woojin says again, and he leans in to press a soft kiss against Jihoon’s forehead.

“You better be,” Jihoon tries to laugh it off, but he can still feel the outline of Woojin’s lips against his forehead. “I’m banning you from leaving me ever again.”

“Alright, alright,” Woojin laughs too, and the snaggletooth that he loves peeks out from the side. “You better start thinking of ways to escape from me, because I’m never leaving you again.”

“Yeah,” Jihoon murmurs.

They fall into a meaningful silence, and then, their backs relax against the concrete wall. They watch the stars in silence together, Woojin pointing out the constellations that he loves to him. It isn’t the first time that they are stargazing together, and Jihoon thinks that he knows all the constellations that Woojin loves, but Park Woojin is his very universe.

The wall is cold against their backs, and so is the wind, but Jihoon’s heart is warm with love.

 

—

 

_They manage to get a free day in one of the days in November._

_The rest of the members opt to spend the day resting, as it was one of the last times they could rest before they embark on another comeback cycle for their first repackaged album, Nothing Without You. But Jihoon’s been scrolling through Pann and Twitter, and he gets inspired._

_And it’s the reason why they are sitting outside their tent on one of the camping sites in Incheon. The autumn wind is cold, but they are huddled underneath one of the thick blankets that Jihoon stole from Sungwoon-hyung, and Jihoon feels like his heart is on fire from his proximity with Park Woojin._

_Glamping, they called it. It wasn’t easy to get a reservation with the company, that set up beautiful tents with fairy lights, and amenities provided but they asked for his name, and when they heard that it was Park Jihoon, they had promised to secure a site for him immediately._

_“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Woojin says suddenly._

_“Yeah,” Jihoon replies. “I’m glad that we decided to come out to try this out.”_

_He turns to look at Woojin as Woojin doesn’t reply. It looks like he has words that he wants to say, but he can’t say them but Jihoon doesn’t prod. He doesn’t want to force the words out of Woojin. He only wants to hear the words when Woojin’s ready to say them, so he swallows his questions. So Jihoon turns back to look at the sky and they fall into silence._

_“That’s Cassiopeia,” Woojin points out after moments of a comfortable quiet._

_“I’m guessing that you know that from all your MapleStory experience, huh?” Jihoon teases. Woojin flushes red, and he knows that it’s true. Everyone in South Korea, their age, definitely played MapleStory when they were children. “It’s beautiful though.”_

_Stars are a rare sight to see back in Seoul, and it’s really beautiful to see them twinkling against the blanket of dark, stormy blue. But he thinks that Woojin’s probably the brightest star of them all; from the way his eyes glitter whenever he’s excited, whenever he’s happy, whenever he’s doing the things that he love; and how his skin streaks like meteor showers._

_“The moon’s really pretty, though,” Woojin whispers._

_It’s strange that Woojin suddenly brings up the room because for all Jihoon knows, Woojin had always admired the stars, constellations, meteor showers and shooting stars. He raises an eyebrow at the comment, “What?”_

_“Nothing,” Woojin laughs. It sounds off and forced, and Jihoon’s confused. “Just appreciating nature, you know.”_

  
  


(It’s only years later when he’s scrolling through Pann that he stumbles upon a post that speaks of poetry, of a Japanese poet who spoke “I love you”s through “The moon is pretty tonight, isn’t it?”)

 

—

 

When they get back to South Korea, they found out that nothing much has changed with regards to the relations of the North and South. But the one thing that changed the most was the number of days dwindling down to their discharge.

It’s nice when it’s nearing the end of their service, because it means that they get chances to go on off-days, and it’s been a long time since he last saw Jinyoung and Donghan.

 

 

> **baejinyoung, 2.10pm:** hey, hyung, where are you now?
> 
> **pakujihoon, 2.12pm:** 5 more mins, Mr. Popular.
> 
> **baeinyoung, 2.15pm:** stfu hyung!!!!!!!!

Jihoon tries not to roll his eyes at how Jinyoung had become one of the top actors in South Korea. While he used to be awkward at acting, often bursting into laughter when they tried to be serious during their MV filmings, he eventually started taking lessons as C9 wanted him to become an actor with his visuals. Jihoon’s happy for Jinyoung, he really is. And it’s not even because he gets treated by Jinyoung every time they meet.

He walks into the cafe that they were supposed to meet in, and as he opens the door, the bell positioned at the top chimes. There’s just something soothing about that, about being in a cafe where you feel whisked away from the scent of coffee, and how people go about doing their own things, and they don’t really care about the rest of the people in the cafe. Jihoon looks around the cafe for a moment, trying to spot that tiny face among the sea of people, and his eyes settle on a figure wearing all-blacks ( _god,_ could he be more conspicuous?)

“Hey,” Jihoon says as he pulls out a chair from across Jinyoung. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

“Hyung!” Jinyoung greets enthusiastically, and Jihoon can see the way his eyes glint excitedly in between the mask and the black bucket hats. It’s been years, but Jinyoung still liked wearing them—and there’s something about that constancy that makes Jihoon’s heart warm up, at the very fact that there are still parts of the people who he know that don’t change through the years.

“Did you order anything yet?” Jinyoung asks, taking off the hat but he keeps the mask on.

“Yeah, I did,” Jihoon nods. “How have you been?”

Jinyoung delves into the sequence of his latest drama series, of how he met Seonho again who’s acting alongside him, and how he finally gets to work with the director and scriptwriter of his dreams. Jihoon nods and listens, but he doesn’t say anything—how can he say anything when he doesn’t watch dramas?

“Ah,” Jinyoung suddenly pauses for a moment, after he’s done recapping about his drama. There’s a thoughtful pause that goes in there, and it looks like Jinyoung’s thinking of whether he should really say the words that he wants to say. He exhales, and perhaps, it serves to give them that extra burst of courage, and he says, “I heard that you and Woojin-hyung were drafted into the same unit?”

Oh. So, it was about that after all.

Jihoon didn’t tell anyone about how he fell for Woojin five years ago, and how they made promises that were never kept. But Jinyoung is more perceptive than Jihoon thought he was, and it had been Jinyoung who first confronted him about it. Together with Donghan and Guanlin, they had helped him to move on beyond his feelings, and move on from wallowing in the depths of crippling self pity.

Park Woojin becomes a sensitive topic that they all know not to bring up, and Jihoon feels his heart clench whenever Jinyoung wants to talk about Daehwi, but stops himself, because he knows how it reminds Jihoon of what he could have had.

“Yeah,” Jihoon admits, and he stirs at his cup of hot chocolate absent-mindedly. “By luck or by fluke, we ended up in the same unit.”

There’s silence that follows after as Jinyoung takes his time to pick out the words, like he’s afraid to arm himself with the wrong bullets.

“Are you… okay?”

“Yeah,” Jihoon tries to break out into a smile. It feels forced, and he knows that it’s forced; and he’s sure that even Jinyoung can tell that it’s a fake smile. “We made up, and we spent time together in Taiwan.”

“Oh?” Jinyoung raises a single eyebrow. “How did it go?”

The memories of the time they spent together in Taiwan: of hand-holding, hugs, tears, and laughter wash over him like tidal waves. It’s hard for him to put the words to the emotions, when it feels like there’s so many things that he wants to say, but he can’t find the right words, and using just _words_ don’t feel like it’s enough to express what he’s thinking, what he wants to say.

But Jihoon thinks, if he can’t be honest to Jinyoung, who has been with him the whole time, then, how can he be honest to himself?

It’s hard to take the first steps forward, to admit the feelings that have been crunched up and hidden in the deepest parts of his heart; wanting to be buried forever and left unexposed to the sunlight of revelation. So Jihoon takes a large inhale, and he thinks of running through tracks and fields, and _hey_ , he feels like he can finally move on from where he had been tied down all along.

“It was great, really,” Jihoon smiles as he looks straight into Jinyoung’s eyes. He knows how people say that the eyes are the windows to a person’s soul, and he hopes that Jinyoung can see the emotions that he can’t explain properly in words. “We went to Jiufen and took photographs, and we also went to Shifen to release lanterns into the sky. It was really beautiful, Jinyoung.”

He sees the way Jinyoung briefly lets out a smile, but there’s a lingering question that lies untouched on his lips. And Jihoon knows what he wants to ask.

“We talked about the missing years—” and Jihoon doesn’t know why but he feels the confidence escape from beneath his knees. It’s always like that when it comes to matters of the heart. It’s easy to recount memories and experiences because you can always look at it from another perspective; like a viewer who’s watching his own memories—but it’s different story when you want to talk about your emotions, when you want to reveal your heart to another person. “—he apologised for not keeping in touch with me, said that it was because he was too caught up with the whole _idol thing_.”

“That sounds like bullshit.”

Jihoon laughs, and it sounds bitter to his ears. “Well, not everyone can be Daehwi, you know.”

“Woojin did sound genuine, though,” Jihoon continues. “So I forgave him, and he promised that we’d still stay in contact even after we’re done with service.”

Silence washes over. Jinyoung doesn’t say anything. He’s still staring at Jihoon, as if he knows that there is _still_ words that have been left unsaid. He sees right through Jihoon, and Jihoon is left to wonder just how transparent he is.

“It almost felt like we were on a date, honestly,” Jihoon looks away from Jinyoung, and he focuses on the speck of dust that’s been collecting at the edge of the window ledge that’s next to them. “Tourists mistook us for a couple, but we didn’t say anything about it. We held hands almost the whole time; and we looked at the stars again.”

And somehow, Jihoon feels like there are tears that are springing up again, welling up in his eyes and threatening to fall as he recalls the intimacy of them. “It honestly felt like we were dating, but we didn’t say anything and we just came back like this.”

Jinyoung stares at him for moments, and he wonders if he should continue to say anything to fill in the missing gaps and spaces—but it’s also when he’s about to speak again when Jinyoung starts to talk.

“Hyung,” He begins. “I think you should talk to Woojin-hyung.”

Then, Jinyoung’s reaching across the table to grab at his hands. Jinyoung is warm and loving, but his touch doesn’t have the same warmth that Woojin’s hands had.

“We all know how Woojin-hyung is like, and he’s not the type of person who would go and do those _date-_ y things if he doesn’t like you. _Well,_ I’m not quite sure how much he might have changed since the last time we saw each other—” Jinyoung stares straight into his eyes, and Jihoon can see how’s genuine about it, and how the words come from his heart. “—But during the time that we were together as Wanna One, we could all see from the way that Woojin-hyung looked at you, how much he liked you.”

It’s just ridiculous how he looks at you like you’re the only person in the world, like you are the center in his universe; and how he does _all_ these things because of you. He helped you to study to enter college even though he didn’t want to. He came up with the whole _Pink Sausages_ thing so that he could have something that belonged just to _you_ and _him_.”

“And I know that Woojin-hyung would never do anything that you wouldn’t like—” Jinyoung tightens his grip on his hand. “—So he’ll never say anything about his feelings until you make the first step, hyung.”

It’s a lot to take into, and it’s hard to see where Jinyoung is coming from when he’s the object of Woojin’s attention; that he doesn’t get to see the way Woojin stares at him in a way that he doesn’t look at others.

“But Jinyoungie,” Jihoon swallows the lump in his throat. “It’s hard to find the words when there’s just so much emotions that cloud my head.”

Jinyoung smiles at him, and it looks like he’s the older one between them. There’s maturity and sensibility to his gaze, and Jihoon wonders what he has ever done to deserve Jinyoung. Jinyoung, who would listen to all his problems and guide him through the steps to take, even though what lies ahead of them are uncertainties.

“I never said that it was going to be easy, hyung,” Jinyoung grins. “But it’s always the hardest to get what we want in our lives, isn’t it?”

Yeah. He’s right.

Jinyoung’s right.

Jihoon thinks of glitters and sunshine, of warmth and love; and he thinks that if there’s only one person that he wants for the rest of his life, it has got to be Park Woojin.

“Thanks, Jinyoungie.”

“You’re welcome, hyung,” Jinyoung releases his hands from Jihoon’s, and he pushes the slice of cake that’s been sitting in front of them over. “Now, you can have your cake and eat it.”

 

—

 

The clock is ticking and Jihoon finds it increasingly difficult to find time with Park Woojin, especially when they are whisked into a flurry of activities and requirements before they are allowed to be officially discharged from the army.

Jihoon’s reminded of Woojin’s inherent status as an idol, of someone who will always be the focus of the media when the cameras start to appear more frequently, and people start coming in more often to have interviews with Woojin. He thinks he’s getting sick of the “How was the two years? Are you excited to come back to the industry now? How have you been?”

It’s fake, and he’s reminded of how the media always captures the exciting moments. They forget about the bland ones, because they don’t bring in much profit and viewership; but it’s the bland and boring moments that add up together to create the spark.

Woojin had asked if he wanted to follow him to a press conference. Jihoon doesn’t know why he agreed, but here he is, sitting at one of the chairs at the back of the hall, watching Woojin from away. (A part of him longs for the old days where they would be sitting together.)

“Are you looking forward to seeing the people you haven’t seen in a long after you’re discharged?” The interviewer asks.

Woojin looks so fucking dashing in his uniform, the stars blazoned on his breast shining under the spotlight. He laughs at the question, and then he’s looking past the swarm of reporters, of black—and Jihoon thinks that he’s trying to find him among the crowd. And when he manages to do so, he’s maintaining a steely gaze.

“Nah, not really,” Woojin says. “It’s actually pretty nice here.”

If there’s any takeaway that he has learnt from the days, months, weeks and year spent together with Park Woojin, Jihoon thinks that he has learnt how to better read between the lines.

 

—

 

They get the waiting room to themselves after the press conference is done. Woojin’s makeup artist is to his side, but he makes a motion to her that he could remove the makeup by himself, and then, they are left alone.

“I can’t believe that you said you like it here,” Jihoon scoffs, leaning into the sofa. “Wootak and his friends make life _so_ shitty.”

“Yeah,” Woojin grins at him, wiping the makeup away with the wipes that were left on the dresser. “But you’re here.”

Jihoon feels the way his heart skips at the words. He wonders if Woojin actually realises the intents, and the way his words sound  when they escape his mouth; wonders if Woojin actually knows what his words are doing to his heart.

Time is trickling like an open faucet, and he wonders how much time they would have left together before they are discharged, and they begin to walk their own, separate paths again. Jihoon doesn’t want that to happen, he wants their lines to run parallel next to each other, heading for the same destinations.

He’s taking the first steps forward. He feels the words that Jinyoung told him flow through his head, and he takes a single breath before he starts to run.

“Woojin,” Jihoon whispers. It’s too overwhelming to look at Woojin, to see the way his face would change with his every words so he settles to look down at the floor instead. “I have something to tell you.”

“Hm?” Woojin sounds confused. But it’s Woojin, and he says, “I’m listening.”

But he swallows the fears and anxiety that threaten to swallow him like an ocean. It just doesn’t feel like it’s going to be the same if he were to look down at the floor, look away from Woojin while he tears down the heart that he has always worn on his sleeve. It would feel half hearted, that he managed to take the first step forward to run, but his other foot is still two steps backward.

So, he raises his head and he looks straight into Woojin’s eyes. He sees the look of love and adoration, of how it tells Jihoon that no matter what he has to say, Woojin would always be here to listen to him, always be here to catch him when he’s about to fall into the abyss.

“I like you,” Jihoon breathes out, after taking a deep inhale. “Not as a friend, but _more_ than a friend.”

I don’t know if you like me the same way as I do, but I keep thinking of Taiwan. I keep thinking of what we could have had in the past but we didn’t do anything about it when Jinyoung says that it was so obvious that we were already in love with each other since then.”

“I don’t want to regret anymore,” Jihoon clenches his fists as he sees the way Woojin’s eyes glaze over, taking in the words and slowly comprehending them.

“I’m scared of what will happen after this, but—”

—if there is anything in the world that I’m not afraid of, it’s my love for you.”

It worries him when Woojin doesn’t reply. It almost makes him feel like he’s tethering along the age of the abyss for his feelings for Woojin; and if Woojin doesn’t say anything, then he would get swallowed up.

“I can’t believe how stupid we are,” Woojin breaks his line of thoughts, and then when Jihoon looks at him, he sees the glossy eyes and the soft smile that breaks. “I love you too.”

They both laugh, and it’s an awkward silence that follows after. It’s hard to ride the rhythm that follows after they both confess. They’ve finally started running, but they can’t catch their breaths.

“Is this the part where we kiss?” Woojin laughs.

Jihoon feels the heat rising to his face, and he thinks of all the dramas that he sees his mother watch, of how the male protagonist would sweep the female lead into a breathtaking kiss, and he looks away in embarrassment as he says, “Yeah, I guess.”

It’s just like how it happens in dramas. Jihoon feels like the world beyond them comes to a slow, that he can see nothing in front of him but Park Woojin. He sees the sun-kissed skin, the way they glimmer under the white lights, he sees the stars in his eyes and the way they seem to tell stories of the galaxies and universes that lay beyond what’s on the surface; and Jihoon thinks that he wants to spend the rest of the lifetime mapping these infinities.

Woojin smiles at him and then, he’s leaning in and Jihoon feels like he’s losing oxygen.

The kiss is soft and sweet, and it’s the moment that he has been waiting for for _years_ . There’s the years of lost love, and how they have finally found each other _now_ , and it’s better late than never. It feels like their lips were handmade for each other, from the way they meld so smoothly and cohesively against each other’s, and Jihoon feels like he’s melting into pieces from the heat of Woojin’s love.

They kiss for several more heartbeats, and Jihoon feels like he could get drunk on the taste of Park Woojin. Then, Woojin’s licking across his lips, through all his cracks and edges; and when Jihoon opens his mouth for more, more, _more,_ Woojin licks into all his crevices, and Jihoon finds himself sinking back into the sofa.

They pull apart eventually, when they are both breathless. And when they pull away, Jihoon can see the swollenness and redness of Woojin’s lips, and it feels like he was washed into a beautiful dream where he did that all to Woojin.

“I love you,” Woojin murmurs, and he’s pulling his weight on Jihoon’s sides, against the couch. “It sure took us a _long_ way to get here.”

“It did,” Jihoon whispers, and he feels like his eyes are getting glazed from the emotions that surge within him, from the tears that are welling up at the catharsis. “And I love you too.”

Then, Woojin’s pulling back his weight back, and grabbing at Jihoon’s hands as he does it. They both reach a sitting up position, and Woojin locks his fingers in between the spaces of his.

The puzzle is completed.

 

—

 

It takes them a while to get into a rhythm that belongs to them. Woojin goes back to idol activities and Jihoon goes back to work. There are times where he doesn’t hear from Woojin for hours, but he remembers how he toiled for hours in dance studios, and how he would just knock out from the day’s activities, and Jihoon can’t bring himself to get angry. It’s hard to be with someone who’s from a totally different world than you, but he can’t help the smile from crawling onto his face whenever he wakes up to messages sent at 4am in the morning, and the trinkets dangling by his phone remind him of happiness:

 

> **pakujin, 4.03am:** Good morning, love. I hope that you’ll have a great day at work today. Can’t wait to see you after you end work.
> 
> **pakujihoon, 7.02am:** go the fuck to sleep, idiot.
> 
> **pakujihoon, 7.03am:** i miss you too.

It’s easier to look forward to work when there are better things that are waiting for him once the clock hits 5. A part of him wishes that he didn’t have work at all, but there’s just something about getting things after working hard for it, and hey—that’s lovely too.

It’s cheesy, but Jihoon thinks that Woojin has made him a better person. You deal with loneliness by moving past the bricks that you make, and Jihoon starts to have conversations with his colleagues. They aren’t exactly _close_ , but they no longer feel like strangers; and Jihoon thinks that in time to come, they _could_ become friends.

Jihoon’s waiting outside his office building, when a black sedan stops in front of him. He lets the smile creep up onto his face, and enters the car.

“Hey love,” Woojin grins at him.

He looks so stupid, in the leather jacket and sunglasses. Woojin has one hand on the wheel, and another tipping the edge of his sunglasses, and also a very flirty smile on his face. And he’s so fucking in love with him.

“You look stupid,” Jihoon says, but the smile is etched on his face. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too,” Woojin replies. His gaze is soft and gentle, and it’s almost like he wants to lean across the car, pull him into his arms and kiss him senseless. But he doesn’t, and instead, his hands are back on the wheel and he’s driving them _home_.

 

—

 

**Epilogue:**

The Brand New dorm becomes Jihoon’s second home eventually as they get together. Youngmin-hyung and Donghyun-hyung give him matching smiles of approval when they first see him in the dormitory, but it’s Daehwi who comes up to him to hug him and tells him, “I’m glad that you’re finally together.”

It’s easier when Jihoon’s in the dormitory with them, and it’s soon when there’s an extra toothbrush, an additional set of cutlery, and a cabinet for Jihoon’s clothes in the dormitory.

"Get off," Jihoon scowls when he’s stirring the pasta sauce, and he feels a pair of familiar arms wrap around his torso. "I need to finish making your dinner, idiot."

Jihoon grumbles slightly at how Woojin has to be on a diet, so he puts in less salt than usual,  but really, he wishes that Woojin could be allowed to eat however much he wants. He remembers the old days of how he wasn’t permitted to eat as he wanted, but Jihoon isn’t an idol anymore, so he doesn’t really care. But Woojin has an image to maintain, so he buys the food with the “Healthier Choice” label on them, anyway.

"No," Woojin shakes his head, and Jihoon thinks that he had just tightened his grip around his waist. "I am recharging. You are not unplug me from my power source!"

"You're stupid," but Jihoon feels the heat on his face.

"I need to recharge on Jihoon Batteries before comeback promotions, okay?"

And then, he turns Jihoon around, even though the bacon is still sizzling in the pan. "I'll miss you."

He feels a part of his heart clench, at the thought of being unable to see Woojin for days and nights, as he’s flying across countries for concerts and fan-meetings or traveling outside Seoul.

“I’ll miss you too,” Jihoon sighs, and he leans in closer to Woojin’s embrace. “I’ll miss Park Woojin, the leech.”

“Hey!” Woojin squints at him, but there’s that hint of a smile in his gaze.

So, Jihoon presses a soft kiss to Woojin’s lips and he says, “I’ll be waiting at home for you, idiot.”

“Are you two done being lovey dovey yet?” They get interrupted by the sound of Jinyoung’s voice cutting through from behind. When they turn back, Jinyoung’s leaning against the edge of the door to the kitchen, and Daehwi’s next to the, rolling his eyes.

“The food is getting cold,” Daehwi continues.

“We’re coming soon!” Jihoon hurriedly says, grabbing a plate so that he could scoop the pasta into the plate. It’s piping hot, and he watches the way Woojin can’t take his eyes off the glistening pieces of bacon, and he knows that Woojin _would_ extend his hands and—“Don’t even think about eating it yet.”

Woojin pouts as they walk out of the kitchen, and head to the living area where Jinyoung, Guanlin, Donghan, Youngmin-hyung and Donghyun-hyung are waiting for them. Jihoon places the pasta in the middle of the table, as they huddle around for a meal together.

It feels almost surreal that the seven of them are together. There are missing pieces of the puzzle that’s Wanna One, but _hey_ , Jihoon had never expected any of them to meet up with each other ever again.

The laughter resonates through the room as they fight for the food, and Jihoon giggles softly as Woojin grabs some pasta to feed him. Banter flies over naturally and easily, and it makes Jihoon’s heart grow warm.

And Jihoon thinks that he’s ready to take one steps, two steps forward; and perhaps, he could do something so that Wanna One can reunite together.

After all, they are _family_ .

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading through all 18k of this and I hope you enjoyed it.
> 
> Hit me up on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/99izm) if you'd like to die over 2park together, or please also feel free to leave any thoughts that you have on my [CC](https://curiouscat.me/chamwink).


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